


Lady of the House

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing, Feminization, Housewife!Dean, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Panty Kink, Roleplay, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doing research for a case is one thing. Doing research on how to be a good housewife is another entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady of the House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaicubed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaicubed/gifts).



> _Someone_ asked for more housewife!Dean. :P And you know. I love my friends. So here it is. There may be more in the future, but whew. This was longer than I anticipated. Please let it be known I know minimal amounts about fashion and the reality of being a housewife a la the 1950s, so I take responsibility for any inaccuracies.

Doing research for a case is one thing. Doing research on how to be a good housewife is another entirely.

Looking up “how to be a housewife” only gave him a lot of articles on feminism, being a professional woman while being a housewife, and a lot of discussion about earning degrees and balancing income. It’s not what Dean’s looking for because none of that really applies to him and Sam. They don’t have kids and dogs or a mortgage, and considering they work the same job on their own time…well. 

Dean shakes his head, staring at the blinking cursor in the search box. “1950s housewife” turns up a lot of costumes, and he winces internally at the thought of cheap rayon and flimsily sewn hems and seams that would never survive Sam’s manhandling. Clothes shopping can wait until later, though. He clicks through a few articles, skimming and shaking his head. There’s some of what he wants here and there, so he jots down a few notes as he reads. One blog though, is particularly detailed; a republish of an old magazine article that sucks him in and he emails the link to himself before settling in to read.

The ring of his cell startles him out of his concentration, Sam’s name on the caller ID making him blush as though his brother had caught him. Sam’s in town, picking up some things at the grocery store (fuck, Dean’s going to have to start making sure he gets to it before Sam does) and he just asks about how much milk is left before hanging up. 

Dean huffs a sigh, skimming over the article one last time before moving on to doing some shopping. He’s already taken the time to figure out sizes - he thinks, women’s clothing is much more complicated than men’s - so its just a matter of finding things he likes. He only picks a couple of skirts and blouses, belts, a corset and garters, face burning by the  end. There’s no reason to waste money, especially if they end up not liking it. 

Sam’s just clattering down the stairs, grocery bags in hand when Dean clicks the laptop shut. He runs out to get the last of the bags, a small part of his brain already nagging at him that he should be inside putting it away instead of letting Sam do it. Dean just shrugs it off; it can wait for later, when the other things arrive before he decides to go all in on this deal. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a couple of weeks before all of his things arrive in the mail. Sam looks at each package curiously, but doesn’t ask. He suspects what’s inside, Dean’s sure, but had already agreed to let Dean surprise him. 

Dean picks a Saturday, rolling out of bed early and slipping into a housecoat. The skirt of it brushes along his knees as he walks, reminding him of its presence at every step as he makes coffee, pancakes, and bacon. He quickly sets the table, knowing Sam will be lured out of bed soon. A pitcher and glasses of orange juice go out, newspaper neatly folded next to Sam’s place at the table. 

Sam comes ambling in just as Dean finishes fixing his plate. He can hear the sharp intake of breath behind him when Sam registers the housecoat, and Dean has to take a slow breath himself. Plate in hand, he turns with a smile on his face.

"Good morning," Dean greets, a little shyer than what he was trying for, but Sam has got that terribly sappy look on his face. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," Sam answers, stepping forward to take his plate from Dean’s hands and pressing a kiss to his brother’s cheek. Sam settles down to eat as Dean makes his own plate. Dean stays quiet while Sam reads the paper, getting up to clear and do the dishes before drinking his own cup. 

"I’ve got to go down to Salina today," Sam speaks up suddenly, not looking up from his paper. "Garth is going to be rolling through with some other hunters on their way to a job, and can’t afford the detour for the supplies they need. I have some things to pick up in town before I get back, so I’ll be home around 4." 

Dean can’t deny the shivers he gets from the matter of fact tone. Sam is going without him, no questions asked, when any other time Dean would’ve balked about Sam taking the car or being left at the the bunker all day. 

"Would you like me to pack you a lunch?" is what he says instead, and that’s when Sam finally lowers his paper. 

"I’d like that very much," Sam says with another soft smile. He drains his coffee and heads back to the rooms to shower and get ready. 

Food gets quickly packed into the lunchbox Sam picked up some time ago, an ice pack nestled in between to keep everything cool. Dean quickly washes the coffee cups and wipes down the table, making sure the kitchen is spotless before Sam gets back. 

Sam has his backpack and another cloth bag slung over his shoulder when he returns for his lunch. He’s dressed a little more crisply than normal, but not enough to raise suspicion from anyone he’s going to see today. Dean follows him to the door, accepting the quick peck on the lips before Sam leaves. 

It’s early still, only just after 8. He has nearly 8 hours to kill, and he knows exactly how they’re going to be spent. The bed gets stripped first, sheets and blankets going into one of the many washers. He drags their hampers in as well, sorting the laundry into piles before filling the machines. 

The kitchen is spotless, Dean knows, so he focuses on the rest of the bunker living areas. Polishing furniture, clearing away clutter, vacuuming and sweeping in turns. He goes back to swap laundry from washers to dryers, making sure the door shuts properly behind him. Sam hates the humidity from the dryers since their room is so close to the laundry room.

It’s noon by the time Dean finishes cleaning everything to his satisfaction. Clothes get hung up quickly, socks matched and put in drawers alongside folded underwear (which Sam would normally tease him for, but somehow feels appropriate right now). Dean remakes the bed, pleased with the fresh sheets and comforter, and he smooths down the whole affair carefully. 

Now, its his turn. Dean showers quickly, knowing that he’s going to need more time to dress himself and get supper started. There’s to be no make up -  _this time,_ he thinks - but he wants as much time as possible to get the clothes right. A small-cupped, padded bra goes on first, pointier than what he’s used to but fashionable for the look he’s going for. Lacy pink panties go on next, then a waist-cincher/garter thing that takes him a while to get on, but the slight hour glass shape it gives him is worth it. Carefully, he rolls stockings up his legs, grateful that he’d taken the time yesterday to trim and file his nails so nothing snags.

The skirt Dean pulls on is full, the cheap petticoat underneath a little scratchy but he’d deal with it. He has to tuck the blouse a bit to make it fight right, but when he smooths his hands down his waist in the mirror…well. He’s not disappointed and hopes Sam will feel the same way. He slips into a pair of ‘flats’ and heads back to the kitchen. 

Potatoes are wrapped in foil and put in the oven, corn on the cob goes on the stove, and Dean pulls the steaks he left to thaw last night out of the fridge. He makes sure to use Sam’s favorite rub, and they hit the pan with a sizzle when the bunker door clangs shut. 

A nervous thrill tingles through him, and Dean almost bolts for the bedroom. Instead, he turns the steaks down just a little and snags a beer from the fridge. Sam’s read his mind, he thinks when he spots the other man taking a seat in his recliner. He swallows nervously before stepping fully into the room, grabbing a coaster and setting the beer on the table next to Sam. 

"Thanks, D-" Sam stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide as he takes in Dean’s appearance. He closes his mouth, clears his throat, and tries again. "Thank you, darling." 

"Good trip?" Dean says pleasantly, noting that Sam’s already taken his shoes off. Oh well, another time, he supposes.

"Yes, very. Garth says hi, thinks he might stop in for a visit on his way back. I told him to call." 

Dean nods, feeling truly awkward for a moment before he remembers the food. 

"Supper will be ready in half an hour," he says softly, hurrying from the room.

Luckily, the steaks are just ready to turn. The timer for the corn, then the potatoes go off a little while later, getting plated up quickly. A pitcher of iced tea goes on the table this time, butter and rolls that Sam picked up the other day nestled beside it. Dean calls for Sam just before the food is ready, taking great pride in the look on Sam’s face when the plate is placed in front of him. 

"This looks wonderful," Sam beams, and Dean blushes at the praise. Sam talks through out supper, filling him in more on the details of Garth’s case and the new hunters he had tagging along. "They remind me of us at that age. Reckless and wild and not afraid of anything, but not sure of anything either," he says with a shake of his head. Dean nods and hums in all the appropriate places while trying to eat and sit properly. He’s worried he’s going a bit too far, but Sam seems comfortable. They’ll talk more later, he’s sure.

"Dessert?" Dean asks when Sam puts his fork down, but the other man can only groan. 

"Maybe later. That was delicious, but I’m so full. Do you need help cleaning up?" 

"No, I’ve got it. You go relax."

Sam grabs another beer from the fridge and heads back to the living room while Dean tidies. He’s bent over the table when firm hands land on his waist, making him gasp. Sam is close, Dean only being able to straighten a little before his back hits solid chest. 

"Hey, sweetheart," Sam breathes against his neck, stroking his fingers along Dean’s sides. Pressing back a little more pushes the hardness of Sam’s cock against Dean’s ass, a heat he can feel even through the layers. He wants, oh God does he want. Dean rubs just a little against that bulge and Sam moans. 

"Pretty little wife for me, Dean. Clean house, good food, and a pretty little wife. What else you got for me, hm?" Sam’s hand sneaks down, enough to catch the hem of Dean’s skirt and he tugs it up. Dean jolts a little, cock jerking in the thin confines of his panties when calloused fingers brush over the back of his knee and up his thigh. A thumb lands just on the inside, stroking over where satin gives way to tender skin. It’s a tease worse than anything Sam’s ever done, and a promise he better be damn sure he’s ready to keep. 

"Sam," Dean gasps, pushing back more firmly, enough that Sam backs away. Dean takes advantage of the space to turn around, and suddenly he’s being lifted onto the table. He bites back a surprised sound, but hooks his legs around Sam’s waist to draw him back in. 

Sam runs his hands up Dean’s legs, teasing along his thighs and tracing his garters. Dean feels hypersensitive, every caress giving him goosebumps and making him want, but this part is Sam’s show to lead. His skirt gets rucked up further, and his brother peeks beneath in a way that feels naughty, especially when the sight of pink panties causes Sam to moan again.  A big hand cups his cock for a brief moment, then both of them are sliding around to his ass to pull him closer to Sam. 

They grind together, the smooth satin of Dean’s panties gliding along Sam’s slacks so good but hardly enough. Sam sets Dean back on the table, using one hand to pull Dean in for a kiss while the other starts unsnapping the buttons on his blouse. His kiss is as ferocious as ever, a claim that always makes Dean a little weak at the knees.

Dean throws an arm around Sam’s neck when Sam lets go so both hands can slide into the now-open blouse. Sam thumbs his nipples through the bra. Its only a light pressure, most of the motion dulled by the padding, which Sam is quick to realize. Instead, he swipes his thumbs under the cups and hums a pleased sound when Dean whimpers. His brother’s nipples have always been sensitive and they perk right up for Sam. 

Letting his arms fall, Dean’s fingers fumble to get Sam’s fly open, pulling out his cock, and jacking it lightly for a moment. Sam groans, hands tightening on Dean’s waist. 

"God, sweetheart, I wanna fuck you," Sam pants, thrusting lightly into Dean’s hold. A hand slides down, sneaking under the waistband of Dean’s panties, and a shocked look steals across Sam’s face. "You’re ready, for me, aren’t you? Thought of everything, and now you’re good and ready to be fucked, hmm?" 

Two of Sam’s fingers slide right into Dean’s slicked hole, stretched and lubed right before dinner, a little extra pushed inside to make sure it would last. Dean moans, pushing back onto Sam’s hand, riding the fingers that Sam strokes in and out of him before pulling free. 

Panties are pushed aside, and then Sam’s cock is pushing inside. Thick and hot, it burns a little on the way in, stretching Dean even wider. He thrusts steadily inward, only stopping when his balls are pressed against Dean’s ass. Dean hooks his legs around Sam again, and Sam puts an arm around his back to pull him up.

There’s a brush of lips, and then Sam starts to thrust. He fucks Dean steadily, savoring every choked cry and mewl he can draw out of his brother. Sam bends forward, catching a nipple in his mouth and sucking steadily at it. Dean shudders and cries at every pull, and his mouth is bitten pink when Sam looks up at him. 

The nipple is red, standing tall with the skin around it flushed and a little puffy when he lets go. Sam blows cool air on it, then goes after the other. He can feel the way Dean tightens in his arms, around his cock, and he knows that his brother is close. Sam uses his thumbs to tease the sore nipples and changes the angle of his thrusts enough that Dean comes with a whining cry. 

Dean lets himself be pushed down further onto the table, spreads his legs up, and sprawls out for Sam as hungry eyes run over him. He’s not sure Dean knows how he looks, proper clothes rucked up and opened for Sam’s eyes and hand and mouth. It’s lewd, it’s naughty, it’s downright sinful and Sam takes in every inch that he can. There’s damp stain in the panties over Dean’s cock, and they’re stretched aside to make room for his cock. Sam grasps Dean’s thighs to hold him in place as he comes, grunting as he pushes in deep. 

They’re both panting and sweaty, faces pink. Sam presses a kiss to Dean’s knee before he pulls out. A small trickle of come follows his cock, and he tugs the panties back over it, quietly pleased when the wet soaks into them. He helps Dean sit up, kissing him tenderly. 

"Thank you, baby," he whispers. "You’ve done so good for me." 

Dean rests there for a moment longer, enjoying the afterglow and the heat that trickles through him at Sam’s praise. Sam helps him down off the table and leads him to the living room. They settle on the couch, back to chest, and Sam clicks on a movie, wrapping Dean in his arms. 

"Was that okay?" Dean asks after a while, when it feels like the day is wearing to an end. 

"It was perfect, Dean. Did you enjoy it?" Sam tilts his head so he can watch his brother’s face. 

"I did. A lot. I’d like to do it again, if that’s okay, but not every day," Dean says quietly. 

"Yeah. This is fun, and hot, but I kinda like you as my big brother, too," Sam says in a more normal tone than he’d been using all day. It settles the last of Dean’s nerves, and he hums a little to himself. 

"I need a shower," he decides, pushing up from the couch. "Someone got me dirty."

"Well, maybe I can make up for that," Sam says agreeably, noting the mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes. 

"You better," Dean quips, practically flouncing toward the showers, leaving Sam to fumble off the couch and run to catch up.


End file.
